


To Hold and To Cherish

by Flower_Flame_Princess



Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental summoning, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Demon Bucky Barnes, Demon Summoning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Steve Rogers, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Stucky Bingo 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower_Flame_Princess/pseuds/Flower_Flame_Princess
Summary: Stucky Bingo: AccidentalBabyChild Acquisition|X|“Steve!” a voice cried out, a woman’s, “You stupid brat, where are you?!”The boy began crying again, harder this time though so desperate to keep quiet, all while he lay small and scared beneath the bed. Once more, Bucky frowned, freezing in his spot as realization dawned. Oh no.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830520
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2020





	To Hold and To Cherish

He had not meant for it to happen.

It just... _happened_. 

Standing in the room he had just teleported in for a reason that lay outside of his reach, he looked around in confusion, his gaze gliding across the bare minimum that the small room had to offer, and had it not been for the bed and the low table with books on it, he would have thought it was some kind of a storage room. 

He thought that because, from the ground piled up to halfway up the walls, the room was filled with various objects, all of the kind that humans kept even though they were not needed anymore. The kind of objects that just needed to go somewhere, so they stood here. There was a lamp, and a separated lamp shade next to it. There were plastic bags, filled to bursting with things he could not see, for they were obscured by plastics. There was a box lying on its side, with packing peanuts flowing out of it like a river frozen in its stream. 

Somewhere next to the bed, he saw stacks of old and yellowed newspapers that carried a pair of scissors on top. Some of the papers lay scattered around beside it, the paper cut up and folded into various shapes, some into small animals. It all seemed as if someone had used the old things to amuse themselves for many hours. 

As his gaze traveled further, some kind of curiosity to them, he saw the other objects. There was an old backpack, half torn with the zipper missing, and some DVD cases stacked onto a pile that had fallen to the side, slipping out across the floor. It was certainly not a room any normal person would gladly choose to sleep in. There were garbage bags filled to the brim, some chipped plates and mugs, stuffy pillows and ratty old blankets. Mostly just old stuff that _should_ be thrown out, but was not for some kind of reason. 

Releasing a soft breath from his lips, he turned around in a slow circle, trying to determine what- or _who,_ had called him here. The summoning had been strange, feeling nothing like what he had felt before. Something about it had not even been a conscious thing, not anything like the other times someone scribbled some sigils and chanted ancient phrases. This was different. It had felt... messy. Raw. Almost like an accident. He started to think that it was. 

A tad idly, not feeling rushed in the silence of the messy room, he walked forward towards the table to give it a look-over. It seemed to function as a desk, judging the books, papers and pencils scattered across the surface, but instead of a chair there was a bucket turned upside down, and placed in front of it. Not the most flattering object to use as a chair. He reached out a hand for the pieces of paper, sliding the first aside to reveal another. There were drawings on them; sketches. They were good, too. Whoever had drawn them certainly had talent, and he wondered who it was. 

_Not that that’s important,_ he thought to himself, with the shake of his head, _I’m not here to awe at some person’s drawing_. 

Though he did wonder, why _was_ he here? 

That question was both answered and made even more confusing when he heard a soft whimper rise from somewhere in the room. It thrilled up through the air accompanied with a quiet hiccup and a sniffle. It sounded… _young_. With a frown between his brows, Bucky cocked his head to the side, his eyes flashing a murky yellow for a moment as he tried to determine where it came from. His gaze stilled. 

The bed. 

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the bed was on the verge of collapse, and the duvet and pillows needed cleaning- or just plain replacement. The blankets were ratty and stunk, itchy and by far not warm enough for these colder days. At least, not for a human. The mattress was a myriad of loose springs and bumps, something that made Bucky recoil by even _looking_ at it. The bed was standing fairly low, so Bucky deducted that it could only be a child that had squeezed beneath it, making those small noises. _Strange_. 

He crouched down beside the bed, placing his hands on the floor as to lower himself even further without tipping over, looking curiously at the small human that was curled up and quietly crying beneath the piece of furniture. Bucky cocked his head again. Something inside him, an old feeling he had long forgotten about, felt oddly uncomfortable when the human’s eyes flashed towards him - a heavenly blue pierced with tears - and there was another soft hiccup, more silent tears dripping from his cheeks. 

“Hi there,” Bucky said then, smiling a little, “Why are you under the bed, kiddo?”

The human child opened his mouth, eyes shining and lips quivering, only to be interrupted by a loud SLAM of a door that made even Bucky jump up a little, his eyes shooting towards the door of this room. What was that? Were the parents home? When he turned his head and looked back, the child had pushed himself even further back against the wall, hiding, curling into himself so tightly it was like he was trying to disappear. 

_“Steve!”_ a voice cried out, a woman’s, _“You stupid brat, where are you?!”_

The boy began crying again, harder this time though so desperate to keep quiet, trembling like someone had grabbed him by the neck and was rapidly shaking him, all while he lay small and scared beneath the bed. Once more, Bucky frowned, freezing in his spot as realization dawned. Oh no.

 _“Could you just stop screaming?!”_ another voice yelled, a male one this time, _“I’m getting sick of you always screaming and yelling to get your point!”_

 _“Oh shut up!”_ the woman replied, screeching so loudly that it drummed through the walls, _“I can never do right with you, can I? It’s always wrong this, and wrong that, how about I just stop doing anything altogether? I’ll just do nothing all day like you and that idiotic son of yours! Just behave just like you, just playing the ‘oh so important’ man all day!”_

_CRASH!_

The sound of a breaking piece of ceramic echoed through the house, louder than a gunshot in its own, terrifying way. The child under the bed was now sobbing in his fear, desperate, cradling himself and rocking for as far as he could move. 

And then Bucky understood. He finally understood why he was here, and why this was happening. He had not been summoned, or actually he _had_ , but not by this human child, or either of the screaming parents outside the door. No, he had been summoned by someone _else_. Not now either, but quite some time ago. A friend. He had been summoned by someone who desperately wanted something, but could not get it. Bucky had put out a word, casting spells like trackers to ping potential sources, but it had taken a while for anything to turn up.

This child right here had pinged the radar, and that had summoned Bucky to this place. 

He knew what he had to do. 

Ducking his head to look under the bed, keeping his expression as friendly as he knew how, he held out a careful hand towards the quivering heap of misery. “Hey, kiddo, why don’t you come out from under there?”

The child whimpered, pushing himself back further and shaking his head. 

Bucky kept his voice soft, his hand relaxed and fingers uncurled and lax, to show he meant no harm. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take you away from here, alright? Bring you somewhere you’ll never be hurt. You’ll be safe and loved, I promise.”

A violent shiver ripped through the skinny, small kid like a large knife through meat, pulling too hard for it to be efficient, just tearing through the kid’s frame like it was trying to pull him apart. Big, blue eyes staring back with so much fear, with uncertainty, even with some kind of _hostility_. Almost as though he was warning Bucky to stay back or _else_. Bucky did not know what else, but he did know that anyone was an enemy to this kid now. Anyone who came too close was a threat. 

Something had to change for the kid to trust him enough to come out. 

“Steve?” the woman’s voice asked then, much closer by than before. She was standing before the door. Her calmness was deceiving. “Steve, are you in there?”

The doorknob turned, the woman turning and wiggling at the thing, but the door itself would not open. It was locked. The kid must have locked it while the parents were out, having some sort of key lying around. When the door refused to open, the tugging got more aggressive, the woman was yanking at it almost as though she wanted to break the lock to her bare hands. “Steve! Open this door, right now! Steve!”

“What now, woman?” the man asked, approaching the scene with quick footsteps that thundered across the floor. There was a light scuffle, and the woman let out a shriek of shock and indignity, heels clicking on the floor. She cursed profoundly, but sounded alright otherwise. The man had probably pushed her aside because, a moment later, he was yanking at the door. 

_BANG!_

The child under the bed flinched violently when a fist collided with the hardwood, whimpering softly. Even Bucky stared with wide eyes at the door, something in his chest turning. He tried to chase it from his mind, but it was difficult. Thinking about how he could not get hurt by this man or the woman did not help at all. He was a _demon_ , for hell’s sake. He could fling people around with the flick of his wrist. He could not die. 

But even he was frozen in shock as the enemies pursued, an old kind of fear pushing up at his chest. One from a previous lifetime.

_BANG, BANG, BANG_

"Steve! Open the damn door!" the man screamed, pounding his fist on the wood even harder than before, almost as if trying to break through, "Open the door!"

Before Bucky had time to process all of what had just played at the other end, the child had made up his mind and decided his next course of action. The kid rushed out from under the bed, and with a sound of surprise that escaped his throat, Bucky was suddenly holding an armful of terrified child, a child who was gripping his shirt and hanging on for dear life, shaking and crying as if he would never stop again. 

The arms of a complete stranger scared this kid less than the promise of what was behind the door.

Sighing softly, _sadly_ , Bucky wrapped his arms around the kid to tug him in closer, his hand smoothing down the kid’s back in a gesture that was meant to bring comfort, but he frowned when he felt nothing but ribs poke out at all sides. Alright, so the kid was a pile of miserable bones. That was just _wrong_. Enough was enough. His radar had been pinged, it had pinged _hard_. He had checked it out, and there was no reason to stay. 

“STEVE!” the man roared, pounding on the door harder, “You fucking brat, OPEN THE DOOR!”

Handling quickly, Bucky pulled his arms back to shrug off his jacket, and he wrapped the kid in it, picking the whole package up with ease and putting it on his hip for support. The kid curled around him like a koala, hanging off him with taut muscles, and it was then that Bucky noticed he was worryingly light, even for Bucky’s super strength. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky shushed, bouncing the kid softly on his hip, like he had seen various parents with small kids do. His stomach clenched at the fresh bruise ringing the kid’s eye. The smudge of discoloration on his cheek and up. The bruises that peeked out from under his shirt. Bucky hugged him a little tighter, making sure that his arms engulfed the kid and showed that he would not let him go. “You’ll be safe, I promise. They can’t get to you. They won’t hurt you ever again.”

Then, he teleported. 

He teleported towards the person he had struck a deal with around six months ago. A childless mother, desperate for a child to hold, to raise, to keep as her own, for the one that had grown in her belly had not made it to the world. It was truly a misery in life, something that should never happen. A miscarriage could wreck a mother’s world, leave them longing for that child that they were supposed to have, but never got to hold.

This particular mother had experienced immense trouble trying to deal with it, and she had asked- nay, _pleaded_ Bucky to help her find a child that she could care for. She would not accept a stolen child, no little boy or girl ripped away from her family. A child that had no other choice. Any child that was unloved, or abandoned, she would care for them. Any child that was not wanted was welcome with her.

Appearing in the kitchen, a little wobbly with his added weight, Bucky took a deep breath for courage, holding onto the child tightly as he regarded the back of the woman who had asked him for a child all those months ago. 

Sarah Rogers. 

He cleared his throat. “Hey... Sarah,” he said, shifting the child’s weight on his hip. He doubted the poor thing even truly noticed what was going on, clinging to Bucky in his shock and fright, caught in his head and his prayers of his terror and tortured to be finally over. 

“James!” Sarah said, jerking up upon hearing the sudden voice behind her. That was on him. He should know better. But she sounded delighted as well, as she always seemed to be when visited by a good friend. Having just finished with the dishes, Sarah wiped her hands on her apron, turning around with a smile on her face, that transitioned into a confused frown when she saw what Bucky was holding.

A small gasp left her lips, eyes widening just a fraction, and she stepped forward to take a better look. With eyes filled with disbelief, she regarded the tight ball smelling of fear so prominent Bucky would be able to detect it from a mile away. 

“I-” he stopped, evading her gaze for a moment, “I just got him from his house. I think he’s right for you.” He cast his eyes back up, looking into hers. “If you still want a child, that is.”

That changed it. 

“Oh, James...” Sarah sighed, looking helpless where she was standing, her arms dropping beside her hips, only to then reach out and clasp her own wrist softly, something to hold on to that was not him or the kid. “I appreciate it, that you thought of me, truly. And I do want a child still, so badly, but you can’t just kidnap a little boy, even for me.”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Bucky said back, a little more fiercely than he intended to. He bit his lip, holding the child close, hoping Sarah would not blame him for his outburst. He had not meant it like that, but he could not stop the feeling of fear still clinging to the back of his mind, and now he stood there, hoping that she was not angry. Judging from her looks, she was everything but. Compassionate, understanding. Bucky swallowed. 

“I- I saved him. I don’t know what they were going to do to him, but they were screaming.” He looked up at the young woman, meeting her eyes. “They _hurt_ him, Sarah. And they were going to do it again. They stuck him in some storage room, abused him, neglected him. He’s all skin and bones. I couldn’t leave him there!”

“Of course you couldn’t, darling, I understand.” She hesitated for a moment, thinking. She was good at that. Thinking things through. There were many things to consider, naturally, but Bucky had handled like he felt he should. “But will they be looking for him? They are still his parents.” 

Sarah’s eyes trailed to the shaking child, buried in Bucky’s arms and jacket, crying so steadily, but so quietly in his desperation to hold it back that it was heart-breaking. Sarah moved forward, completely on instinct, her arm reaching just this slightly, but she pulled back. She wanted to reach, to soothe, to comfort. To hold the child even if it was not her own. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Bucky said, stepping forward, his jaw clenching tightly as he forced back emotions that he had not felt in a long time. “I’ll take care of it all, whatever it takes. I’m _not_ taking this child back there. Never. If you don’t feel comfortable taking him, then I’ll take him somewhere else, but he’s _not_ going back there.”

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head slightly, blinking a few times fast. He looked down at the bundle in his arms that was slowly slipping into a calmer state, half asleep, still sniffling softly, too tired to care about what happened next, only feeling the minimum of content being carried by someone who radiated protection instead of pain. 

“He jumped into my arms,” he continued, “Small thing was hiding under the bed, terrified. As soon as his parents started banging on the door he didn’t give a shit about who I was.” He looked back up at Sarah, who looked back as though her heart had been broken. “I wasn’t any of the monsters of the hallway, and that was good enough for him.”

Sarah moved forward even more, circling around to stand at Bucky’s side, laying a hand on his bicep, gazing so softly at the child. Steve. The child had now noticed her, and he was staring back quietly. Bucky could feel the kid’s hands grip him tighter, the muscles tensing at the sight of yet another stranger, and perhaps also even his strange surroundings. His eyes were so big, so innocent. So afraid. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Sarah said, visibly swallowing back tears, “I’m Sarah. I’m...” She stopped, her eyes crossing those of Bucky for a fleeting moment of hesitation, but then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, more sure this time. “I’m going to take care of you from now on, alright? I know it can be scary, we haven’t met yet, but I want to help you, okay?”

The child shifted, hoisting himself a little higher. Then, with the tiniest, quivering voice he asked, “Do I have to go back home?”

Doubt rang in her head for a moment, images of the child protective services, the police, SWAT teams, and search parties all breaking down her front door and arresting her, raising their weapons to strike their judgments flashing through her mind, but Bucky gave her a look, and that made it alright. “Not if you don’t want to, sugar,” she answered, smiling at the child, “If you want, you can stay with me. Would you like that? At least for tonight?”

“Do I have to sleep in the scary basement?”

“No, sweetheart,” Sarah said, tears now shining in her eyes, “You will sleep in a normal bed. You will eat normal food. Wear normal clothes. You will be cared for.”

The child looked up at Bucky, almost questioning, and Bucky nodded, smiling a little. The child looked back at Sarah, nodding carefully, then reaching out an even carefuller hand, almost as if afraid to get yanked around. He probably _was_ afraid to get yanked around. 

Sarah reached out as well, moving along with Bucky to pass over the underweight child, and as soon as Steve was in her arms, she hugged him tightly, cradling him in her arms as though she had never done anything else. Bucky knew she often babysit the kids of her friends, especially the small ones, to cope with her loss in some kind of way. To work out those motherly instincts she had gained while carrying a child for months, but could not direct anywhere because of the loss of said child. 

Now, she had a child. She had a small child, clinging onto her, huddled in Bucky’s jacket, crying again because _Satan knew_ how long this child had gone without any form of physical contact, or any form of comfort at all. 

There was something about seeing Sarah hold the child so closely, whispering reassurances to him, rocking him ever so softly, that made him feel different. Something about seeing the child gripping her tightly, embracing her with all limbs, eyes going heavy as he was finally safe. 

Something about seeing that same child grow up, turning into a magnificent young man with eyes like no ocean or sky could live up to, a smile that dazzled even the most stone-cold hearts, did something to his heart. Perhaps it was the young man's shining soul that was like the purest gold, perhaps it was the way he blushed when Bucky tried out his usual flirtations on him, or perhaps it was the way that he bit his lip and thanked him for saving him all those years ago. 

Seeing that scared kid grow into something strong and beautiful...

It felt damn good.

**Author's Note:**

> I was very conflicted about how to tag the story since it's also a kid-fic kind of thing, but I want to make it very clear that there is NOTHING romantic or sexual between Bucky and Steve when Steve is a kid. It's only when Steve becomes an _adult_ , that the two start to show interest in one another, hence why I tagged it "pre-slash" and "pre-relationship". 
> 
> I wanted to write more about how when they grew up they would start to explore one another a little more, but I have very little time on my hands, so sadly, this'll just have to do. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed :D!!


End file.
